


Silk And Lace

by Spindiver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Hairy Derek Hale, Lingerie, M/M, Mechanic Derek Hale, POV Derek Hale, Panty Kink, Secret kink, Ten Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spindiver/pseuds/Spindiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edit - 9/5/17: So I'm putting this on hiatus and marking it complete. It isn't, I have plans but this year's been a real shitty one and I haven't got round to finishing it. I have something I'm working on that I'm really excited about which I should be able to post soon and after that I'm hoping to get back to this. I promise!</p><p> </p><p>Derek finds a pair of panties and they start him on a whole new path of self discovery.  </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Then he thinks of Stiles’ reaction, the mortification of being caught red-pantied – as it were – meant that he hadn’t really seen at the time that Stiles didn’t seem fazed at all. That he implied it was practically normal, an everyday thing that lots of people did and that he’d said they looked nice...on Derek specifically.</i></p><p> </p><p>Rating upped to reflect more graphic content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It starts innocuously enough, Derek reaches under the bed to pull out an errant sock and along with that and the flurry of dust bunnies something pink emerges as well.

'Huh', thinks Derek as he examines the bright object although it occurs to him that Lydia would probably call the colour Fuchsia. Shrugging, he tosses the panties along with the sock into the pile of laundry he’s been collecting. Most likely they’d been left behind by one of his overnight companions when he’d been in his slutty phase.

10 years after he’d returned to Beacon Hills, Derek is almost indistinguishable from any other resident of the town if you didn’t consider the taut body and artfully groomed facial hair. He has a house and a job, his own business in fact: Hale Auto Repairs. “Just like a real boy!” Stiles teases him on numerous occasions. Mundane domesticity now accounts for the larger proportion of his time, supernatural activities...not so much anymore.

It has taken a while to get to this point and Derek has tried out a number of lifestyle choices since his decision to settle in the town of his birth. There was the self-sufficiency phase where he’d spent the nights hunting in the forest and the days tending the vegetable plots and fruit trees he’d planted in his garden. That went along with an unkempt look which had earned him the nickname, ‘Wild man of the woods’ – no prizes for guessing who had christened him that!

He’d found that lifestyle a bit solitary ultimately and it had slowly morphed into hipster phase as he’d spent more time in the town itself getting to know his neighbours and taking a few classes at night school. 

Derek still can’t help a cold shiver of embarrassment any time he recalls the day Stiles found him in the organic coffee shop, glasses perched halfway down his nose, deep in a copy of Infinite Jest. Stiles laughed until he couldn’t anymore. “Dude”, he croaked out between long indrawn breathes, “You’ve really got to get a hold of yourself before you disappear up your own butt!” 

Derek thinks the panties might have been left behind around then. Slutty phase is a neat shape right in the middle of the Venn diagram of hipster phase and real boy phase which is pretty much where he is now. 

The dull drag of domesticity finds him taking the dry laundry upstairs to put away. There’s a pack get together tonight and of course Derek’s is the only house that’s suitable as a venue being both large enough _and_ free of sleeping children. Real boy likes to keep a clean house and not leave his smalls about the place for the pack to find.

He folds his t-shirts and sorts his socks into pairs and there, in amongst the relentless palette of blacks and greys of his wardrobe is a flash of colour. He pulls the panties from the pile and holds them in both hands, the waft of laundry detergent rising up to tickle his nose with jasmine. 

They’re so soft, silk, he thinks, with lace edging the waist and legs. He turns them over in his hands, running the fabric through his fingers, not that there’s much fabric there. A thong, he decides. Jeez, he’s been spending too much time with Lydia. He brings the panties up to his nose and sniffs their fresh washed aroma. They feel unexpectedly good against his face, the silk so thin it ripples like water on his skin. He covers his face with them, letting them drift down gently, their delicate material catching on the rough stubble of his beard.

He pulls them away, not wanting to catch a thread on this fragile new discovery. He wears cotton boxers or briefs depending on mood but he wonders what the panties would feel like if he wore them. He’s never had anything so soft against his skin before. Although they’re tiny they’re obviously not made for a petite woman. Derek’s tastes when he was in slutty phase tended towards the Amazonian. He’s a large man, powerful and even though he always tries to be a gentle lover with women, he likes someone who can match him – as much as he lets them. 

Without thinking, acting purely on impulse he strips off his jeans and sheds his regulation black boxers. He shakes out the panties and steps through them. Slowly he drags them up his legs, pulling them gently over his calves. They whisper against him, like a ghost touch over his knees until the breadth of his thighs fills the panties and he can feel the smooth fabric drag over the dusting of hair on his skin. 

Finally, he has them on, they’re a little snug and the thong part is slightly uncomfortable but the slight breeze from the open window that drifts across his naked buttocks is unusual and he thinks he likes the contrast between seeming covered and yet being bare at the same time.

He looks down to the unexpected sight of bright pink on him. He likes the colour against the tone of his skin, the olive of his body making the pink pop. Christ, Lydia, get out of my head, he pleads to himself. His cock is contained in the gossamer garment but his balls, weighty and full, hang without, there being no thong in the world that could contain them. 

He catches a glimpse of himself from behind in the wardrobe door mirror and turns to consider his reflection fully. The innate masculinity that he is used to seeing in his muscular and hairy body doesn’t exactly look wrong against the filmy pinkness of the panties, just different. He pretends he can’t see his balls slung low underneath but he likes that the bulge of his cock is visible. He puts a hand down and strokes over it, the silky texture grazing gently against his most intimate body area is a sensation unfelt until now. He sucks in a sharp breath as it causes his stomach to sink and his cock to chub up a little.

He contemplates himself for a while, holding himself within the gentle caress of silk and lace. Turning around to check out his rear view, he admires the way the lace of the thong graces his butt crack as it swoops up to join the waistband. The sinking feeling returns and the hairs on his ass cheeks stand on end a little which really isn’t helping as his brain processes this unexpected dichotomy between masculine and feminine.

They feel so good and they look good to him as well. He realises he wants to wear them; he wants to know what it would be like to carry out everyday tasks while they were beneath his normal clothing. 

Laundry forgotten, Derek is existing in an unreality bubble consisting only of the possibility of the panties. He scrambles to pull his jeans back on, over his legs and up until they cover the brightness of the underwear. The whisper of the cotton against silk is like the telling of a secret and Derek luxuriates in knowing that the secret is his, only he knows what he is wearing and what it feels like.

He presses a hand to his groin again, just inside the unzipped fly of his jeans. He needs to press hard because the panties have made him feel very turned on, very horny and he has no idea where any of this has come from or, indeed, what he’s going to do with it. 

A cacophony of noise pierces Derek’s bubble and he jerks suddenly as reality comes cascading back. He looks down to the flash of fuchsia at his groin and zips up his fly quickly as he realises that the pack have started arriving and he doesn’t have the time to change back into his usual underwear. He pulls his shirt down, well over his waistband, he doesn’t know if the panties will peek out above but he thinks the shirt is long enough - providing he doesn’t bend over too far of course.

Derek takes a deep breath and tries to shake off the heady feeling that the panties have caused in him and goes downstairs to greet his guests.


	2. Chapter 2

Halfway down the stairs Derek has to stop momentarily, he’s still partly in his earlier headspace and he really can’t have that around the pack. He doesn’t know what this is and he has no intentions of revealing himself either literally or metaphorically to any of them, least of all, Stiles, who is currently waving a cheery hello at him from the doorway. Although he’d guess that of any of the pack, Stiles would be the most likely to have experience with this kind of thing.

“OK to stash these for later?” asks Stiles holding up a couple of bags containing snacks and drinks

Derek nods at him and continues downwards trying exceptionally hard not to register the swish of silk next to his skin as he moves. 

Half of the pack have settled ready for whichever movie Lydia decides is suitable for tonight. She has already made herself at home in one of the oversized stuffed chairs with which Derek has furnished his living room and is directing Jackson to find remote controls and organise the entertainment. Isaac and Danny are splayed out on a couple of enormous bean bag cushions next to her. 

As Derek pokes his head round the door of his kitchen he sees the others: Scott and Allison are gathering glasses and bowls for the snacks and Stiles is hunkered down on his heels trying to fit something into the bottom of Derek’s fridge which, like most of the things in Derek’s house, is extravagantly large. All Derek can see are the denim clad globes of Stiles’ ass as he reaches in towards the back of the appliance dipping his head to peer into the corner.

Seeing Stiles’ ass instantly negates the ten seconds of blissful ignorance of the panties that Derek has managed to achieve in that short walk. His brain goes: Stiles’ ass...asses in general...my ass...silky, smooth panties...nice...and then weirdly, Stiles’ ass again. It’s a vicious circle of butt is what it is, like Derek’s entire existence has spiralled down to this and only this.

He shakes it off and goes to shut the fridge door, making Stiles jump up quickly to avoid being caught.

“C’mon, don’t let all the warm air in”, chides Derek not looking anywhere near Stiles, never mind at his ass which Derek’s inner monologue helpfully reminds him is round and lush. He chivvies Stiles along ahead of him into the living room where Stiles takes a seat next to Scott and Allison on the enormous four seater sofa.

Stiles pats the plump cushion next to him, “Come and stick your butt down here Sourwolf”, he says.

Derek growls quietly to himself seemingly unable to escape from this nightmare ass world. 

They’re halfway through the movie – something to do with superheroes, he thinks, he’s not really paying much attention - Allison has moved to cuddle on Scott’s lap and Stiles has spread out into the available space, kicking up his shoeless feet onto Derek’s legs. This is not an exceptional occurrence, over the years Stiles has grown to consider Derek part of the furnishings, using him for comfort whenever required. It is the first time in a long while however that Derek feels slightly ill at ease with it. Stiles’ legs are long and his skinny jeans do nothing to hide the shape of his thighs and calves. Derek can’t believe he hasn’t noticed before, how his lean thighs taper down endlessly to his ankles. One of which, Derek notices, is pale and delicate where Stiles’ sock has ridden down, exposing that brief glimpse of skin.

Derek shuffles in his seat a little, jostling the ankles crossed carelessly on Derek’s knees. This was possibly a mistake because the effect of the panties sliding against his skin sets up another link in this insane game of thought association Derek has going with himself. Now his circle of butt has expanded to contain Stiles’ legs as well. He sighs.

Stiles moves one of his feet and starts poking Derek’s thigh with his toe.

“Hey, Derek.”

Poke

“Can you get me a drink?”

Poke...and he holds up his glass to Derek with accompanying pouty face which is by no means as potent at the age of 27 as it was when he was a teenager.

“Surely it’d be easier for you to go”, grumbles Derek. “I’d have to move you to go myself”, he says pointedly.

“Yeah but I’m watching this and you aren’t”, Stiles points out.

Derek retorts, “How do you know I’m not watching it?”

Stiles turns more fully to Derek with a smirk on his face and Derek knows he’s in trouble now. His distracted mind cannot possibly compete with Stiles in a verbal tussle. 

“Summarise the plot so far for me then...?”

Derek grunts in defeat.

“Yeah”, says Stiles with a shrewd look, “You’ve been fidgety all night and you’ve been staring at a spot about two feet away from your face for most of the film.”

“Just get him his drink Derek; you know you’ll end up doing it anyway”, adds Lydia with a sigh.

With a huff of resignation Derek pushes Stiles’ feet from his lap and gets up. He might as well go, Stiles is right in that he has been paying no attention to the film. At the fridge he bends down to find the particular brand of drink that is Stiles’ favourite this week and as he does so, the stretch of his legs causes the lace string of the thong to ride up into his crack. Never having been the recipient of a wedgie in his life before, Derek shoots up clutching the drink bottle. He must have made some kind of noise because Stiles yells in from the living room to ask him if he’s alright.

“Yeah, fine, just...um...hit my head...”

He can hear Stiles’ snicker plain as day which just reinforces his problem. He desperately needs to adjust the thong, it feels like razor wire, he can barely move. How the hell do women wear these things? It’s tight round his hanging balls as well and Derek would like to think that children are an option at some point in his future. If he shoves a hand down his jeans like he really wants to, there’s a strong likelihood that he’ll get caught and he can’t think of a reasonable way to explain it off. 

Clenching his buttocks tight, he walks back into the living room somewhat stiff-legged and hands Stiles the bottle.

“Thanks, dude”, Stiles says, flashing a wide open smile up at Derek. His expression changes to concern when he sees Derek’s scrunched up face. “Are you OK?” he asks and isn’t this the most awkward thing ever. Derek can barely move without feeling like he’s being cleaved in half below and it’s all he can do to school his face into a more natural guise and answer with a careful “Yes”.

Scott joins in, “Did you hit yourself?” His noses wrinkles a bit, he can obviously sense that Derek’s in pain. “You should check that out.”

“Good idea” Derek responds, relieved that at least the source of his pain is undetectable and he escapes as quickly as he is able to the downstairs bathroom.

Now he’s safely behind a locked door, Derek doesn’t hesitate in wrenching his jeans down and reaching behind to free the trapped lace from the confines of his buttocks. It hurts almost as much to remove it as to keep it there but ultimately he feels the relief. He leans against the hand basin, head drooped, jeans splayed round his knees and panties hanging loosely at his thighs. He wonders how the heck it came to this.

Thinking with a somewhat clearer head now, he scrambles to shed his jeans - thankfully, in his own house, he has no need of shoes – and drops the panties also to the floor. Derek hastily redresses, going commando is not an issue and reaches down to pick up the scrap of pink that’s been causing him so much trouble this evening.

He looks around for somewhere to stash the panties but can’t see anywhere that he can say with cast-iron certainty is good enough so he stuffs them in his front pocket and pushes them well down.

It’s with a pang of regret that Derek realises that he kind of misses the slither of silk next to him but he still gives silent thanks that this whole disconcerting episode is done with.

Returning to join the pack, Derek slips into the corner space of the sofa and Stiles immediately swings his legs back up and shuffles closer to him, reaching out.

“Have you got an egg on your head? Let me feel...” His long fingers wiggle at Derek’s head. Derek bats them away.

“Of course not, I’m a werewolf, stupid!” and for good measure he drops his knees so Stiles’ feet fall off. Nonplussed, Stiles just lifts them up again and plonks them back but further up this time, on Derek’s thighs and that, it seems, is that.

Only it isn’t because Derek is still trapped in his hellish thought spiral. Now he can add Stiles’ hands to the list and how they may possibly feel touching him. It’s excruciating, waiting for the evening to end and trying to act normal while all these thoughts fly round his mind. 

Stiles cheers the end of the second film of the evening and the couples with children start to make going home noises. Derek stands to start clearing away the mess. In no way is this a walloping great hint, no siree. He makes appropriate but brief conversation as the pack drift off until it is just him standing in his front doorway in a kind of a Mexican standoff with Stiles. Derek wishes he would just go but Stiles seems disinclined, wanting to make the worst kind of conversation with him, the personal kind.

“You’ve been a bit ‘grumpy wolf’ tonight”, Stiles says cocking his head and contemplating Derek. “Anything you need to get off your chest?”

Derek returns the stare. Oh God, eyes! Wide amber, soft and full of concern. 

He realises he’ll never get rid of Stiles while he thinks there’s something wrong so Derek relaxes his eyebrows somewhat, pats Stiles’ shoulder reassuringly and says, “I’m fine, really, I’ll see you tomorrow or something...” He uses the hand on Stiles to push him just out the way of the door and deftly shuts it in his face. 

“OK but if I don’t hear from you or see you in the next 48 hours, I’m back checking up on you, alright?”...is heard from behind the door.

“Whatever, Stiles, whatever...” mutters Derek.

He returns to finish the clear up. Real boy, clean house, remember? But the evenings events are still spinning around in his head. Yesterday he didn’t have an affinity for scrappy pieces of silk and wide eyed teenagers that grew into long limbed adults but today that seems not to be the case.

Derek turns his mind back to the panties as he tidies up the last remaining items. Despite the stress of maybe getting caught wearing them and that awful wedgie notwithstanding, he’d missed the feel of them when he’d taken them off. He wants it again or something similar perhaps. Something a little more comfortable, there must be something that would hold his balls as well. 

He thinks he’s channelling Stiles when a voice pops into his head and says – you can get anything off the internet these days. The last of the glasses go into the dishwasher and Derek heads to the mahogany desk in the corner of the living room and boots up his laptop.

As he sits down he wonders what search term to use. His breathing is a little shallow and his heartbeat slightly elevated and Derek realises he’s excited to explore this - dare he say it – newfound kink a little more. Firefox opens and he types in the most obvious and simplest thing: men’s panties and a whole new world opens up to him.

It’s an hour and a half later and Derek has browsed every single online men’s lingerie store he can find. Some don’t warrant much time spent on them, their merchandise cheap looking but two or three have delightful products, a symphony of colours, styles and fabrics, all guaranteed to encase male genitalia. He’s switched between sites, comparing and contrasting and has placed a number of items into shopping baskets on two of them. He checks out the first one and then on a whim adds a pair of sheer stockings to the second one and checks that out too.

He shuts down his laptop and heads upstairs to sleep. The laundry from earlier is still out on the bed, forgotten in his enthusiasm for the panties. He decides that it can wait until tomorrow and moves it to the top of his dresser. His shirt hits the back of a chair and his jeans thunk to the ground. As he kicks them off he catches a glimpse of pink from the pocket so he pulls out the panties and regards them again. They’re very pretty and he draws them softly through his fingers. He usually sleeps butt naked but what harm can there be if he wears them to bed. If they get caught again he can easily adjust himself. Smiling to himself he slips the panties back on and slides himself into bed.

He lies there in the dark letting the maelstrom of today’s experiences whirl through his mind. He cups his cock with one hand but it’s more for comfort than getting off, he doesn’t want to come in the panties, not ready to sully them yet. He has a little more of his libido to explore first. His focus turns to Stiles and he wonders how he’d missed seeing him turn into a stunning man, all lines and curves and constant movement. His last thought before he drifts off to sleep is to wonder what it would be like to have Stiles’ hands drag the panties up his legs until they were snug around him and Stiles was holding him instead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm English so it's really hard sometimes to get the right American terms for things. If I've cocked up on any of them, please let me know and I'll make an edit. There's one in there that I just couldn't find a decent equivalent for. You'll know it when you get to it. It's the most Austin Powers-y, cor blimey, guvnor! word there is.

Derek’s late, that’s the second morning in a row. He’s overslept and to compound matters when he wakes up he realises he is wearing the panties – for the second morning in a row – and can’t resist squirming around in bed a bit just to feel the silk caressing his skin.

He catches sight of the time, groans and rolls out of bed. As he heads to the bathroom he notices that he’s got some fine morning wood going on; the head of his cock peeking out of the lace band of the panties. In fact, he’s so turgid that his crown is almost the same colour as the silk. Never one to miss an opportunity, he has a good wank in the shower, stripping his cock roughly under the spray of the water. He rubs his thumb over the flared head and as he drags his nail across his slit for the third time, he spurts, strong and long against the wall.

He didn’t really have enough time to get any sort of fantasy going, just a vague montage of satins and silks and skin but as he comes he’s imagining a pair of soft black lace boy-shorts with glints of silver thread woven through. They’re being drawn slowly up his legs and the thing that makes him release so suddenly is that it’s not him that’s doing it, just a pair of hands with slender, dextrous fingers. Whoa! 

Derek doesn’t have the luxury of being able to contemplate this. He’s got some coffee brewing while he dries and dresses and he only has time to pour out a travel mug of the bitter brew and head on out. 

He needs to be at the garage by eight to open the workshop. Stiles phoned yesterday – surprise, surprise – and said the jeep is making a weird clunking noise and he wants to bring it in before work today. 

Stiles arrives just as Derek is pulling up the shutter so Derek waves him to drive straight on in – he’s not wrong about the noise. Stiles kills the engine and hops down, the tan of his uniform and the Wayfarers perched on his nose make him seem every inch the upstanding Sheriff’s deputy that he is now.

“Did you hear it?”

Derek moves to join Stiles as he pushes the sunglasses on top of his head. He nods, “Yeah, I think I know what it might be, leave it here and I’ll check it out for you.”

Stiles grins wide and his eyes crinkle. He claps Derek on the shoulder. “Thanks, man; I should get back here around five.” They both hear the approach of another vehicle and turn to look out of the workshop. Jordan gives them a mock salute from the window of the police cruiser as it pulls up outside.

“There’s my ride, gotta run, catch you later...”

Derek’s eyes follow Stiles as he jogs round to the passenger door and jumps into the cruiser. He wonders whether the deputy’s uniform is purposefully cut to enhance a fine posterior or if it’s just Stiles. 

Truth be told, Stiles’ early start is not the only reason Derek wanted to get in on time this morning. The lingerie he ordered the other night is due to be delivered today. He usually gets packages delivered to work, it’s more convenient plus his workshop’s at the start of the postal round whereas he wouldn’t get mail at home till around noon.

While he waits, he pops the hood of the jeep.

“Hey Derek”, there’s a shout from the front of the workshop. Derek resurfaces from where he has pretty much diagnosed the fault on Stiles’ jeep.

“Hey Owen”, Derek greets the postman whilst wiping his hands on an old rag and comes to collect the assorted brown parcels and envelopes that are his delivery today.

“See you tomorrow”, Owen raises a hand in farewell and Derek moves through to the office to sort his mail. He puts the two larger packets to one side and quickly glances through the rest of the batch. Nothing terrifically interesting or urgent this morning so he takes a moment to ensure the door to the office is shut - He’ll hear anyone approaching long before they get here anyway – and sits down and pulls the nearest package towards him.

The first thing that drops out is a pair of primrose yellow bikini briefs followed by some light blue high leg panties and a black satin thong. There’s even less material in these than in the fuchsia thong he’s been wearing but he can see that the front is fuller.

In the other parcel he finds a sapphire blue lace tanga brief and some deep red French knickers. The stockings he’d impulse purchased complete his hoard.

Derek doesn’t know what to look at first, there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and he knows he’s barely breathing. It’s still quiet in the workshop and it’s likely to stay that way for a while so he grabs the pack containing the light blue panties and scoops all the rest into a drawer which he locks.

In the little workshop washroom he rips open the cellophane packaging and clasps the pretty blue panties to his face. They smell too much of factory and new and he really wants to get his scent on them. At work he wears a set of overalls with just a t-shirt and his underwear underneath. If he puts the panties on they’ll never be noticed under his overalls, no-one will see, only he’ll know. Derek really likes this idea.

They’re made of satin, the colour of a clear morning sky and trimmed round the edges with a delicate strip of lace. They’re slightly stretchy and with a high waist they’ll fit him like a pair of men’s briefs which should avoid any nasty butt crack accidents.

Derek’s nearly finished with the jeep. The only problem is, it needs a part he doesn’t keep in stock so he shouldn’t really let Stiles take it tonight. He can drive Stiles home when he leaves, Derek’s sure he won’t mind. Jordan can probably take him in tomorrow and if not, Derek doesn’t mind the slight detour especially if he can check out Stiles’ ass again in those uniform pants.

Speaking of pants...or panties to be 100% precise, as he suspected the satin moves with him when he bends and stretches and feels delightful as his balls and dick slither around inside. This is more like it. He’s not had a chance to check himself out in them yet but he imagines the sheen of the sky blue satin looks excellent against his darkish skin tone. That’s a treat that can wait for tonight though.

Around lunchtime one of the teachers from the high school comes in with a persistent rattle in his mini-van. Derek knows he won’t get a chance to find and fix the fault today so the guy agrees to come back in the morning.

It’s getting warm in the workshop; the early summer sun beating down on the metal roof isn’t helping so Derek undoes the top of his overalls and drops them to hang around his waist. He wipes off his brow with the undershirt. He’s got the mini-van over the pit and he can’t work out where this rattle is coming from. Every time he thinks he’s sorted it, it comes back. All this jumping in and out of the pit and the arms of his overalls are flapping about like wings so he ties them loosely around his waist.

He’s about ready to give up for the night when Stiles comes in. Derek can see him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed watching Derek. He jumps up from the pit again, cocks his head and grunts a greeting to Stiles who says...

“Don’t stop on my account, it’s always a pleasure to watch a craftsman work. I hope you’ve got her lubed up properly”

Derek ignores the innuendo. “I’m not a craftsman, Stiles, I’m an auto-mechanic and listen, I can’t really let you have the jeep back tonight, there’s a part I need to pick up in the morning...”

He’s putting his tools away, “...but I’m nearly ready to head out now, I can give you a lift home if you want to wait a couple of minutes.”

“Well if it means I get to watch your fine ass toil for a little longer, I’m good with that”, smirks Stiles.

Derek’s used to this low level flirting Stiles seems to carry out thoughtlessly and with everybody, he carries on getting ready to close up. There’s just one last adjustment he wants to make to the mini-van so he leans in deep to the engine cavity.

“Holy crap! What’s that?” exclaims Stiles

“What?” asks Derek from deep in the engine.

“That!”

“What?”

He can hear Stiles footsteps approaching him from behind.

“Are those...are those panties Derek? Are you wearing ladies lingerie?

Shit !!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word I was having trouble with in the last chapter was Wank. I thought that was more one of ours. Every American I've ever known has sniggered madly whenever I thrown it into casual conversation. Guess it's not so unusual then.

Derek’s completely forgotten that he’s wearing the new panties. With all the problems on the mini-van, comfort has given him a false sense of security. Add in the heat in the workshop and it’s no wonder he’s been rumbled. How could he have been so foolish?

Derek stands up swiftly and grabs the arms of his overalls from where they’ve drooped to hang loosely around his bottom, he ties them more securely, much higher up at his waist. He crosses his arms firmly against his chest, hopes his face isn’t too red and fixes Stiles with a steely glare. In the circumstances, fronting it out seems a better option than curling up into a little ball with embarrassment – which is what he really feels like doing.

He’s made great strides in the last decade: he can have a pleasant conversation with a stranger; he can resolve a disagreement without resorting to force; he’s even picked up a few new skills – no-one can make a lasagne to touch Derek’s these days. Right now, however, early wild man of the woods Derek is threatening to reappear, all grunting and minimal human contact.

Derek is well aware that Stiles can be a grade A dickwad when he wants to and that often seems to be at Derek’s expense so Derek is expecting the worst. Instead, Stiles just gives him an assessing look for a moment longer than necessary and says, “Hey man, I’ll just wait in the pickup while you finish.”

He grunts and heads to the office with his eyes cast downward. He doesn’t want to see the expression on Stiles’ face, maybe pitiful, maybe full of glee at yet another thing he can rib Derek with. In the office he locks everything up and then pauses to consider what to do with the rest of the lingerie that’s in the drawer. He absolutely does not want to give Stiles any more mileage to pick at his nascent sexual exploration but he equally can’t find it in himself to leave them there for another day. He grabs an old holdall from where it’s been thrown in a corner and scoops all his unopened purchases into it. Turning and looking around he spots a pile of dirty t-shirts and a set of old overalls that he’d meant to take home to wash. They go in the holdall on top of the panties and he zips it up firmly.

He only has to drop the hood of the mini-van and pull the shutter down and then he can’t avoid Stiles any longer. He swings himself up into the cab of the pickup next to Stiles and starts the engine. He thinks that if he can busy himself with the task of driving then maybe he can avoid any awkwardness but really, once he’s pulled out onto the road it’s all hanging there like a great big neon sign saying ‘Weirdo Alert’.

Stiles isn’t looking at him but he doesn’t seem too uncomfortable. After half a mile of stilted silence, Stiles turns to Derek, flashes him a kind of half smile and says, “Thanks for the ride home, I appreciate it.”

“S’alright.” Derek can’t find any other words to say so he doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on the road ahead and they slip back into silence, Stiles occasionally casting glances across at him. Thankfully it’s only ten minutes to Stiles’ house even though it feels like hours and as he begins to feel relief at the prospect of getting Stiles out of his vehicle so that he can go home and die, he hears...

“You know, it’s not unusual, lots of men wear them these days.”

Derek pulls up on Stiles’ driveway, it’s nearly over now so he thinks he can manage real boy for a minute or two.

“I know.” And he looks up at Stiles expecting to see judgement in his eyes but Stiles just stares back guilelessly for a moment.

“They’re really pretty and the colour suits you, you shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

He just can’t deal with this casual acceptance, doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Do you need another ride in the morning?” he asks.

“Don’t worry”, Stiles replies, “I’ll get Jordan to swing by.”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve finished on the jeep.”

“Alright then...” Stiles nods at Derek and hops down from the pickup, Derek wastes no time in reversing out of the drive and getting the hell out. Maybe the tyres squealed a bit, who cares?

Once home and inside, Derek collapses back onto the closed door and exhales deeply. He stays there for a minute, just breathing, letting his heart rate settle. He knows he can’t stay there all day so since he’s still clutching the holdall he goes and puts his dirty work clothes in the washing machine. He’s sweaty and a bit oily, time for another shower.

In his bedroom he strips off his overalls and t-shirt leaving him in just the satin panties. Half of him wants to rip them off, throw them away and never put them or anything like them on again but the other half – the one that seems to be winning just wants to look at them.

In the mirror he can see his reflection: all man, from his week old stubble right down over his broad shoulders across his sculpted chest covered in a pelt of dark hair and on to his sturdy legs built for stamina _and_ distance. Right there in the middle are the incongruous panties, pale and gleaming. Derek loves the contrast. If he looks only at the blue satin, he sees something delicate and pretty, something unquestionably feminine but if he broadens his gaze, looks at where the stretchy lace of the waistband clings to his abs just showing the cut of his hips, it’s a whole other story. That’s male, right there, treasure trail disappearing down under the satin.

Derek steps closer to the mirror, groans when he can make out the fine swirls of hair just peeking out from the legs of the panties diminishing down to a shorter, finer coating over his thighs. He’s feeling a little light headed. It’s all a bit much, this sudden self-awareness coupled with the earlier incident with Stiles. It’s one thing to discover and accept this new aspect of himself but he doesn’t feel any way comfortable enough to open up to anyone else about it. Not that it isn’t too late for that already.

Deciding to worry about how to deal with Stiles later, Derek runs his hands slowly up from his knees, enjoying the slightly scratchy feeling of the hair running against the grain and how it morphs into silky smooth when he reaches his groin. There’s really something about this gender clash that gets him going but he doesn’t know where to take it, how to resolve the itch that seeing the fine delicate lingerie on his hirsute body gives him.

In the short term, it’s obvious, another session of self-pleasure in the shower but Derek wonders if this is his future. Is he to resign himself to a solo sex life, he feels more alive erotically in these past few days when he’s been experimenting with the underwear – he’s semi-aroused every time he puts them on. He can’t imagine how anyone else could gain pleasure from just seeing him wear the tiny scraps of lace and frill. What other person could get off on the unusual sight of Derek in pretty, pretty panties?

Then he thinks of Stiles’ reaction, the mortification of being caught red-pantied – as it were – meant that he hadn’t really seen at the time that Stiles didn’t seem fazed at all. That he implied it was practically normal, an everyday thing that lots of people did and that he’d said they looked nice...on Derek specifically.

His semi is a full blown rager now and it looks good hidden under the ripple of shiny satin. It’s big enough to fill the panties out. He can see all the curves of his flesh, the mushroom head and even the slight protuberance of the vein that runs up to it. He needs to do something about this now!

He lets the panties drop, allowing them to graze his legs as they fall to his ankles. He ducks under the warm spray of the shower to wash away the grime of the workday. As he fists himself, sharp and rough, he thinks of Stiles’ long legs and the perfect handful of his ass under those uniform pants. Christ, when did workwear get hot? For the first time, he thinks of what else might be tucked away down there. He wonders if Stiles’dick – which he imagines is long and slender, just like its owner – could get hard at the thought of Derek in bright flimsy fragments of almost nothing.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t going to be a solo adventure for Derek. Perhaps Stiles is the one who will share it with him.


	5. Chapter 5

In the last two days. Derek has tried on all his new purchases, mostly just at home. He wore the yellow bikini briefs to work yesterday and he’s got the dark red French knickers on now. He’s realised that the thongs and smaller pairs of underwear aren’t suitable for a work environment; what with all the bending and stretching he has to do. He wore the black thong at home last night when he could just lounge around and put his hands all over himself in private. Now he’s just tidying up the house a bit while he waits for the casserole he put in the oven to cook.

One thing he’s come to realise lately is how on board with all of this, the wolf part of him is. He wondered if he’d feel stirrings of discomfort, after all, the wolf and the human don’t always see eye to eye. Usually in a situation like that, the wolf wins. Derek knows if the wolf doesn’t like the feel and look of his new pleasure then it’s game over but he hasn’t worn his old underwear for five days now and the wolf seems more than content. He thinks he must have a kinky wolf because the low growls of appreciation he emits when he touches himself wearing any of the panties are not coming from human Derek. He’s never sounded like that before, not even when he was in slutty phase.

Stiles picked his jeep up yesterday after Derek had managed to get the right part. He was perfectly pleasant but didn’t hang around long – he was going to his Dad’s for dinner – and he absolutely didn’t mention anything about anything...to Derek’s immense relief. Derek thinks if he can keep their interactions on that level, he might just get away with it.

Or not...

Right when Derek’s getting the casserole out of the oven, he hears a knock at his door. One of the pack, no doubt. He takes a cursory sniff, definitely one of the pack, definitely the one he’d least like to see right now...or perhaps he’s kidding himself. His wolf stirs, interested.

Derek goes to answer the door. He’s wearing jeans and a henley which is tucked in. No chance for unfortunate accidents.

“Hey”, he says, leaning on the door jamb, holding the door open“. What can I do for you?”

Stiles brandishes the six pack he’s carrying and ducks under his arm.

“We haven’t had much bro time recently, dude. Thought I’d rectify that.” 

Derek follows him in, he watches him put four of the beers in his fridge. He hands one to Derek and takes a slug out of the last.

“Stiles, I saw you yesterday, the day before and the day before that.” Derek wrinkles his nose in confusion.

“No, I mean one-on-one, serious bro time, bonding over sports and hobbies kind of thing.”

Uh-oh, this can’t go well, Derek thinks but fortunately Stiles is side-tracked.

“Hey what smells good?”

“Chicken casserole, want some?”

“You know it, dude!” and Stiles sits down at the dining table, grinning.

Derek gets another plate and starts ladling out casserole. “There’s some bread in the kitchen.” He jerks his head to indicate. If Stiles is going to get a free dinner, he might as well make him work for it. What are the odds he can keep the conversation away from pretty panties? 

In the first instance, quite high, as it happens. Stiles keeps up his usual mile a minute torrent of stories, anecdotes and random observations. There’s no need to do anything other than react.

“Damn, that was good”, Stiles declares as he puts his knife and fork down, looking sated. “You’re becoming quite the Gordon Ramsey...oh, did I tell you about Deputy Roberts and the pig...” and he launches into an amusing tale about the hapless deputy and an escaped porcine. 

Once that one’s wrapped up, Stiles offers to clear the table. Derek lets him – see above about earning his keep. This gives Derek the opportunity to perve on Stiles, just a little. He’s cooked him a meal after all; he can allow himself to admire the way Stiles ass curves elegantly down to his thighs while Stiles bends to load the dishwasher. If he sighs a little when he observes the stretch of Stiles’ arms, the play of muscle over his shoulders as he puts things away, well, sue him – it’s a free country.

“Shall we have these outside, it’s a lovely evening?” Stiles grabs the last two beers out of the fridge.

Derek trails after Stiles - this is becoming a bit of a habit. They sit on the small area of decking looking out over Derek’s backyard that leads on to the forest. The sun is just starting to go down over the trees. It’s really rather lovely.

Of course, it’s at the moment when Derek feels relaxed enough to let his guard down and rib Stiles a little about his inability to garden – seriously, he kills everything – that Stiles does a conversational 360 and says...

“So, I gotta ask, I’m sorry, you can shut me up if you want to but I’m so curious...”

“What, Stiles?” Derek tenses, he knows what’s coming.

“Do you wear them often? What happens if you need to shift?” – Jeez, Derek hasn’t thought of that. “I spent a whole semester wearing my girlfriend’s, it was great, never felt so comfortable in all my life. She got a bit pissed off in the end though, could never find any clean ones for herself.” He laughs at the memory, Derek seizes the opportunity to steer the conversation away from himself.

“What made you go back to men’s?”

“We split up and uh, too many public changing situations. But you...” He leans forward towards Derek, looks up at him and the setting sun is reflecting in his eyes, Derek’s mouth goes dry “...When did you get a taste for the exotic?”

“Only recently”, Derek croaks, the sunset is casting a golden aura over Stiles and if he wasn’t so transfixed, he’d be about a mile away by now. 

“Figured that”, says Stiles, “I’ve seen you in your grots countless times and they never looked like that before.”

Derek’s caught halfway between intrigued and petrified but there’s no censure coming from Stiles so he lets him continue.

“You are the last person I expected to find wearing woman’s underwear “, Stiles states and then comments slightly more reflectively... “But the one I would have most wanted to see in something like that.”

Derek is hooked, he leans in, too. “What do you mean?”

For the first time, Stiles starts to look a little uncomfortable. “Come on, man, I shouldn’t have to...not after all this time...”

Derek realises he is now well inside Stiles’ personal space bubble and likewise Stiles in his but he needs to know exactly what Stiles is getting at.

“I don’t know, Stiles, tell me.”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck, he seems to be considering something. He looks Derek straight in the eyes, which, to be fair, are about six inches away. “Well, you’re hot; you know that and the idea of you in something pretty...scorching!” 

From this close distance, Derek can see Stiles’ pupils are dilated like an eclipse of the sun. His heartbeat’s up a little, as well. It matches Derek’s.

“I like the idea of you seeing me in my panties.” Derek inches incrementally closer; he can’t look away from Stiles’ wide, dark eyes. He can feel Stiles’ breath play across his cheek. They’re so close. Stiles moistens his lips with a dart of his tongue.

“Are you wearing any now?”  
“Yes.”

Closer...

“Tell me.”

Closer still...

“They’re red, burgundy maybe, soft, soft silk with frills. They feel like a whisper against my skin...”

“Jesus, Derek!” Stiles looks shattered, “I don’t even know...” 

But Derek doesn’t care what it is that Stiles does or doesn’t know, he’s too committed now. All of his erotic discoveries over the past few days have brought him here, to this place, to this man. He edges forward, covers that last brief gap and wraps Stiles’ bottom lip in his own. It’s warm, dry and feels good against him. He pulls off, Stiles makes a small noise but Derek just dives back in and goes for the top lip.

Then they’re really kissing, pressing together tighter, consuming each other. Derek slides his mouth down Stiles’ jaw, licking and sucking along Stiles’ neck to his throat. They’re holding each other now, scooched to the edge of their seats to get close enough. It’s so right, Derek thinks, the taste, smell and feel of him fit in a way that nothing’s ever done before. Derek nips at the delicate flesh of Stiles’ throat relishing the slight rasp of bristle on his lips; Stiles must have shaved this morning.

Stiles’ hand is drifting down Derek’s back. Derek doesn’t even care anymore, he wants Stiles to do this, wants Stiles to know what he looks like. Stiles fists Derek’s shirt and tries to pull it out from his jeans. Derek doesn’t try to help him, he’s found this tender spot under Stiles’ ear, he thinks it tastes like summer.

Eventually, Stiles’ persistence pays off; he makes a tiny gap between Derek’s clothes and wriggles his fingers in. Derek shivers as he is touched for the first time, arches into Stiles’ reach. He feels Stiles’ hand slip under the waistband of his jeans, fingers questing. He hears a hitch in Stiles’ breath as those fingers stroke silk, stretch to grope further and then encompass his cheek. The feeling of Stiles’ hand shifting the silk over his skin is exquisite and Derek sucks the tiniest but most intense mark on Stiles’ neck, like a penny.

Stiles pulls away from Derek’s mouth, looks down at him.

“Can I see them Derek, please?”


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles has this look on his face, like he’s anticipating something tremendous and it’s all feeding into Derek’s need to be seen; to be put on display. Really there’s only one way this is going to go. Derek stands up, grabs Stiles’ hand, pulls him up too, gives him a swift kiss and drags him into the house. He doesn’t feel like stopping when they’re immediately inside so he carries on, towing Stiles upstairs behind him because, after all, that’s where the rest of his lingerie collection is.

It’s not like Stiles is in any way reluctant to follow him, he’s almost tripping over his feet in his haste to keep up with Derek. When Derek turns to face him again in his bedroom, Stiles’ expression has added surprise to anticipation but his heartbeat’s way up and Derek can maybe detect an aroma that emanates from Stiles that seems like musk and spring: fecund. 

“This...” Stiles shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge an inconvenient thought. “I never thought, in a million years...” He simply stares at Derek as if he’s never seen him before and has to take it all in.

“Do you want to see or not?” Derek’s getting a little self-conscious now, there’s still time for this all to go horribly wrong but Stiles senses Derek’s insecurity and he reaches out and reels him in close.

Stiles runs a hand down Derek’s chest towards his waist. “I can’t think of anything in the world I want to see more right now. Can I..?” And he tugs on Derek’s jeans.

Derek swallows and nods, there’s this huge lump in his throat and he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He’s so excited, he’s halfway to a splendid hardon and he knows the minute he sees Stiles’ eyes on him, it’s going to go monster. He still has a tiny niggle of doubt though, the idea of - quite literally - exposing himself is a petrifying one but so, so what he craves. He asks...

“Are you really OK with this?”

Stiles is fumbling with the button on Derek’s jeans now but he still manages to cup Derek’s face with his other hand. He tilts his head and regards Derek with a soft smile.

“I am beyond OK with this.” His thumb is rubbing gently over the stubble of Derek’s cheek. “I would have been doing this years ago if I ever thought I had a chance in hell – with or without panties.” His fingers manage to flick open Derek’s jeans.

“They’re an amazing bonus, like something you never thought you’d get.”

Stiles has now opened Derek’s jeans and is inching his fingers inside, glancing against the silk underneath. Derek can’t choose between watching Stiles’ face or the reveal itself. He decides that he’ll never get another opportunity to see Stiles’ very first reaction to his choice of undergarments so he relishes the sensations but keeps his eyes on Stiles, he is not disappointed.

Stiles honeyed eyes go wide and dilate, his mouth gapes slightly and he looks like pure, undiluted sex. Derek can imagine throwing him down on the floor and just taking him and Stiles looking up at him exactly like that. 

Stiles’ hands are on his hips under the jeans but over the panties, he works Derek’s jeans down so they tumble around his legs.

“Oh”, sighs Stiles, long and drawn out, he looks up at Derek, “Fuck!” He pushes Derek’s shirt up round his waist and holds it there so he can just go back to looking. There’s so much tension in the room now, the air seems heavy and volatile. Derek can’t bear it any longer so he grabs Stiles’ face and kisses him deep. They part, panting shallowly.

“You need to get this off.” Stiles pulls at Derek’s shirt so Derek lets him drag it up over his head while he toes off his shoes and kicks his jeans from his legs. Stiles stands back a little to fully absorb the sight of Derek, naked and in frilly panties.

“Look at you”, Stiles says breathlessly. “You’re stunning, so hot, so pretty.” He runs the back of one hand down Derek’s belly, grazing his treasure trail until he reaches the panties. 

Derek’s earlier belief that the very act of Stiles’ looking would make him hard is difficult to disprove when his cock is clearly visible, bulging lewdly right in the front of the otherwise demure garment.

“And you love this, don’t you, you’re so turned on.” Stiles gives a little smile, one of satisfaction and slips a finger under the elastic of the waistband, a hairsbreadth away from his cockhead. He runs it teasingly across the sculpted terrain of Derek’s abs. Derek just has to shut his eyes for a moment, Stiles’ touch on his skin sending his senses into freefall. 

Derek can’t even put into words the way the sensuality of the fabric makes him feel so he just says, “Yes.”

Stiles drops to his knees in front of Derek, he has his head tilted to the side and his breath is caressing Derek’s thighs. He runs his hands slowly up Derek’s legs, against the growth of dark hair there, sending Derek into sensory overload. The sensation of Stiles’ hands on his skin is like a warm bath, perfect and comforting. Derek wants to subsume himself in this; he wants Stiles’ hands everywhere. He thinks that he must be looking like sex right now as well. 

“I want...” He stutters out lowly but he doesn’t even know what he wants. He tries to get himself together enough to work it out. “I want you to tell me what you think.”

Stiles’ hands are on his thighs, fingers edging up under the loose legs of the ruby red knickers. 

“It’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life in front of me. You’re the benchmark for attractiveness; all the things I find desirable in a man, you’re that. C’mon, Derek, you’ve got to know that I’ve wanted you for years.”

“No, I had no idea.” Derek says quietly and he really didn’t, maybe he’d have done something if he’d have known.

“Well I have.” Stiles drops his voice to a confessional tone. “I turned around one day and you were a fixture in my life, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not have you there.” Stiles’ hands are now inches from Derek’s groin.

“You never said anything”, Derek questions.

Stiles fixes him with a baleful look. “I wasn’t stupid; I got about as many sexy vibes from you as I did from Scott. The last thing I wanted was to blow our friendship.”

And Derek knows this is true, last week this thing between them was a possibility too bizarre to be considered; now, it’s the only thing in Derek’s future. Stiles’ thumbs are stroking the top of Derek’s thighs, right where the hair starts to grow thicker and curlier. He’s flexing his fingers under the loose silk of the panties and it’s driving Derek wild. 

Derek needs to touch now, he’s being touched but he has to have it too, to know what Stiles feels like under his hands, how warm he is, what the texture of his skin feels like. He reaches for the nearest exposed part of Stiles he can find - his neck, so smooth, so luscious. He slides his hands down to the collarbone, relishing the play of skin over bone. He can feel Stiles shudder at his touch.

“You know I’d never have let that happen, you’re too important to me.” Derek grips Stiles just a little bit tighter and in return Stiles grazes his thumbs higher, signalling his eventual intent. Derek watches Stiles as he in turn stares in wonder at his own hands moving over Derek’s body, shifting the delicate silk, making the ruffles quiver.

“I think there’s a time for things”, Stiles declares. “I think there’s a moment when everything’s right and I think our moment is now.” Bending forward he presses a kiss just below Derek’s belly button. 

“You’re all muscle and tan and hair and what do you know, my type just happens to be dark buff dudes with plenty of body hair and a bit of an attitude. “ He slides his lips down the soft dark path on Derek’s abdomen. “Christ, Derek, I could do this for hours”, he sighs. 

Derek pulls Stiles close against him. “I could let you.” Stiles nuzzles his cheek on the silk and lace. “These are so pretty and you look so good in them, I can’t tell you...” He looks up at Derek with longing shining from his eyes and then gives a small smirk. “One thing you don’t know about me - because, why would you - is how very kinky I am.” Stiles is rubbing the silk of the panties between his fingers and thumb, so near to Derek’s throbbing cock, he can feel the fluttering of the fabric against his too-tight skin, it’s intoxicating. 

Stiles sits back on his heels still with his hand on the jewel toned delicacy covering Derek’s turgid manhood.

“I’m going to wreck you Derek Hale, I’m going to take you apart and when you think you’re spent, I’m going to whisper to you all the things I’ve thought about doing to you, tell you all the things I’d use on you – oh, I’ve got quite the collection – and then I’m going to do them.” He flashes a wicked grin and leans in closer to Derek, pouts his plush lips and places a kiss dead centre on the soft red silk, right on the burning head of Derek’s cock. 

Derek’s knees buckle a little. “Do it”, he growls, “Do it all to me, I want you to.”

“Oh I will but I want you to promise me something first...”

“What? Anything...” Derek stutters back, it’s overwhelming, he needs Stiles so much right now, he’d probably sell his firstborn if Stiles would just touch him again.

“Keep these on, always keep them on for me. You have others don’t you? Yes. Of course you do, I’ve seen them. Always wear something pretty for me.” Even Stiles’ self-assurance is starting to crack now. Derek wraps his hand round the back of Stiles’ head and pulls him sharply in to his groin.”

“God, yes, Stiles, I want to look pretty for you.”

Derek’s experiences of sex thus far - while varied, particularly in slutty phase – have been mostly completion driven; foreplay usually a means to an end. He prides himself on being good at it, on bringing pleasure to his partners but he realises he’s only ever done just enough to suffice, just enough to race to the finishing line. Stiles is mouthing at his cock now, arms wrapped round his thighs, darkening the already deep colour of the panties with his saliva and Derek’s loving it, never wants it to stop, understands now that sex is a journey, not only a destination . He knows he wants to take his turn too, wants to strip Stiles down, infinitesimally slowly and discover all the parts of Stiles, with his mouth, his hands and his mind. Right now though, he’s Stiles’ to play with, he belongs to Stiles, totally.

Which is why it’s such a disappointment when Stiles stops sucking tight kisses along his shaft and pulls away. He taps Derek on the ass, hand sliding on the slippery silk. “Get on the bed big guy”, Stiles tells him and he scrabbles backwards to comply. Stiles clambers on after him, kneels between Derek’s legs, looking.

“So beautiful”, he says running his hands down Derek’s torso, tangling his fingers in the not inconsiderable fur on Derek’s chest. “I love how hairy you are, it does something for me.” Stiles’ fingers find Derek’s nipples, he drags a nail over one of them and Derek bucks up, rubs his dripping cock against the wet fabric of the knickers, finds a little of the friction he’s needing. He’s not above begging now.

“Stiles, please...touch me...something, anything...please...” Derek can hear the desperation in his own voice.

Stiles shuffles closer and gently reaches across to pull the panties down, having to lift them up and over the prominent bulge of Derek’s desire. It springs free, a drop of pre-come flicking off the head. Derek watches it fly away. Stiles tucks the waistband of the panties under Derek’s balls leaving the silk bunched up around his thighs, he seems transfixed.

“How have you got such a gorgeous cock?” Stiles wonders and he wraps a warm hand round Derek’s thick length. His other hand is stroking Derek’s leg, pushing up under the silk. Derek has never thought of his or indeed any other genitalia in these terms but he knows with certainty that he will think Stiles’ is equally as luscious when he eventually sees it. 

Stiles dips down and runs his lips along the shaft, letting his tongue peak out to leave a trail of dampness behind. “You’re so hot”, he murmurs.

“Ugh” responds Derek, struggling for coherence. “So are you”, he manages and runs his hands over Stiles’ head, through his tousled hair .

Stiles doesn’t even take his mouth away from Derek, he just talks around him sending delicious vibrations right through Derek.

“No, I mean you’re hot like burning, in temperature I mean, not desirability, although you’re that as well.”

“Stiles, please...”

Derek gazes down and watches Stiles mouth envelop him, sees the swallow of Stiles throat as he takes him in, the warm, wet cavern descending down, down until it meets Stiles hand, rolling the tight skin between his fingers. This is heaven for Derek; he can’t imagine anything better than the swipe of Stiles’ tongue against his heated flesh. It’s not enough for Stiles though, he takes his hand away, groping for Derek’s balls and lets Derek’s cock hit the back of his throat.

“Fuck, Stiles! So close...”

Stiles loosens the suction and lifts up to circle his probing tongue around and over the tumescent head of Derek’s dick. Everything’s so wet, there’s saliva and pre-come dripping down through Stiles’ fingers as he cups Derek’s balls. In Stiles’ hand, Derek feels his balls tightening as Stiles’ tongue slips into his slit and presses lightly.

Derek has no idea whether Stiles’ preference is to spit or swallow so he tightens his grip in the threads of his hair and pulls him up, away from his cock and into a fierce kiss. Derek breaks off to slam his head back as the rush of orgasm pulses through him and from the corner of his half open eyes he catches the spurts of come as they arc up and land on his chest.

Stiles’ finger comes up to swipe through Derek’s chest hair and collect some of the come. Derek barely registers Stiles sucking it off the digit.

“Jesus, Derek, you come like a volcano!” Stiles is rapidly fumbling for his own cock and Derek finally gets his own glimpse. It’s thinner, paler and slightly shorter than his own but just as hard as Derek was a moment ago.

“Let me...I want to...” Derek reaches for Stiles but gets his hand butted away. 

Stiles shakes his head. “No, I want to look at you. “ Stripping his cock roughly with one hand, he reaches down and pulls the now soiled panties up again, over Derek’s softening cock. “Can you clean these? I mean can I get them dirty?” he pants.

Derek nods; he’ll buy a hundred new pairs if Stiles will just keep looking at him like he’s the answer to all his prayers. Stiles places his other hand on Derek’s hip, fingers scrunching the red silk. He’s breathless now, mouth slack but eyes fixed on Derek lying there, debauched, come on his chest and filthy panties clinging to his groin. 

“So sexy”, he groans, “So hot...gorgeous...let me come on you, please..?”

“Yes.” Derek can’t say it quickly enough. Stiles’ hand is moving so fast Derek’s worried he’s going to hurt himself but he slackens his grip, points his cock at Derek, tugs it a couple of times and his seed spills from him dripping down to soak the ravaged panties.

Stiles collapses exhausted at Derek’s side and Derek has the presence of mind to catch him and draw him in for a slow kiss, lips sliding together, tasting the last vestige of his own come. He holds on tight to Stiles. He decides he never wants to let go.

“I think you wrecked me instead”, Stiles finally manages. “How are you such a surprise, after all these years?”

Derek shakes his head. “I dunno, just comes naturally, I guess.”

Stiles slaps ineffectually at him. “You have more of these, right?” He indicates the silk that he marked so decisively minutes ago. “You’ll show me..?”

“Yes”, Derek says, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ temple, “but later, just want to cuddle now.”


End file.
